


Strings and Touches

by Idonquixote



Series: Downstairs Accidents [3]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bard's accident this time, M/M, hurt/comfort on both sides this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idonquixote/pseuds/Idonquixote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian comes to him for a while. Bard doesn’t quite understand, but he thinks he knows why. It’s in the why that he can’t find the answer, that he can’t understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strings and Touches

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! Part 3 of Downstairs Accidents. Thanks for all the support- hope this installment is just as enjoyable.

Sebastian comes to him for a while. Bard doesn’t quite understand, but he thinks he knows why. It’s in the _why_ that he can’t find the answer, that he can’t understand.

He drinks a lot more in the following days- sometimes Sebastian shares a bottle with him. Most of the time, Sebastian just comes into his room while Finny’s dead asleep and wakes Bard up. Sebastian has a thousand reasons: the meat was badly done, no more flamethrowers, the fire was too big, Bard shouldn’t sleep so much, and so on.

And the butler never leaves. Instead, he takes his place sitting on Bard’s bed and stares at something else, the wall, the window, Finny- anything but the cook. Bard lets him be.

The truth is he’s never asleep when Sebastian walks in.

It’s only a few weeks, but it’s a while for Bard- a while’s a long time- he was the young master’s age “a while” ago,” he hated Sebastian “a while ago,” he was still in the army “a while ago.”

“Lemme see,” Bard usually says at the end of Sebastian’s many lectures.

And Sebastian does just that. He peels the tailcoat away and lets Bard prod at the tie and buttons underneath. The bruises do get better- still a little too ugly for Bard’s tastes- and new ones always form. The tear in his chest fades to a large gash, the blood clotting at last.

Bard doesn’t mean to, but he ends up touching Sebastian a little too much, ends up brushing fingers over every bruise, pausing at the areas (on his side- caught Meyrin on the stairs- his shoulder- tried to change the bandages himself- his calf- cart bumped into his leg) that come with new blemishes.

“Done?” Sebastian usually asks in these intervals, turning his head until the lips nearly meet Bard’s own.

 _I don’t know_. Bard never replies.

“This is tiring. Bard, I’ll be fine,” Sebastian says one night, when Bard is too busy poking at the butler’s scalp for signs of new marks.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say,” is the reply.

He doesn’t know if he’s worried that Sebastian will never be fine or if _he’ll_ never be fine. He’s always been protective of his comrades, always considered the staff another family, always thought Sebastian was a pain in the ass, but this is a new game altogether. Bard admits he knows the butler is handsome, knows he’s capable, knows that on some level, he both admires and envies him- but he knows for certain that what he feels now has nothing to do with any of those.

He doesn’t care for Sebastian’s injuries because of camaraderie, doesn’t linger on him because he thinks the butler is pretty, doesn’t keep this game going with him because of any brotherly bonds. No, Bard simply does this because he cares a _hell_ of a lot, and maybe something more, and that’s the feeling he struggles to figure out.

* * *

“Spare a cigarette, my man?”

Bard turns, the smoke hanging from the corner of his mouth. It’s a ragged gentleman who looks like he needs more sleep. With a shrug, Bard pulls out his case and hands the other one cigarette. The rest of the street is monotonous, horse clapping here and there, people bustling about.

“Here ya go,” Bard says.

“Oh? That accent- you from-“

“America, yeah.”

“I’ve been there once. Wretched place.”

“S’not that great here, you know,” Bard says defensively.

The man laughs. “It was a joke. So what brings you here?”

He had been hoping to get his hands on the latest racy magazine before Sebastian found out, but the bookstore chose that day to close. Can’t be helped.

“I’m a chef now, starting a life here. Been good lately.”

He’s not sure if the last part is true though. The other man asks for a light and Bard complies, the pair chatting aimlessly at they stroll down the sidewalk. They come to the restaurant around the corner, its windows tinged orange.

Smoke is what Bard sees next, a blast of orange, red, and yellow smoke all too familiar to the cook’s eyes. He doesn’t have time to warn his companion. The blast is everywhere.

A bout of explosive pain. And then the blackness settles in.

_Heh, I thought you’d always be there to put out the fire. Maybe you’re not superman after all, eh, Sebastian?_

* * *

When Bard wakes up, his limbs are numb and his lids are heavy. He recognizes the feeling as morphine, though it’s been a long time since he’s had to use it. Without it, he’d be in hell.

He blinks a few times to adjust to the light streaming in from the window. There’s a ceiling fan circling slowly above him. The smell of medicine is strong in his nose. He tries to sit up and winces.

He can feel the cotton wrapped around his head. There’s a patch of it on his neck. They’ve stuck him in a loose pajama, but he can see the bandages wrapped tightly over his chest and shoulder. He lifts his hands- the left is fine, save a few scrapes- nails are dirty and chipped. The right is bundled in gauze leading to the elbow.

_No fingers missing._

“I hope you had pleasant dreams.”

That snaps Bard out of his daze. He turns his head, only to see Sebastian sitting stiffly in the chair by his bed. “Damn it! Don’t scare a guy like that!” Bard snaps hoarsely.

“Please don’t be so ignorant of your surroundings in the future.”

“Like it was my fault!”

Bard glares at him. Sebastian glares back. The butler’s face is worn, stressed in ways Bard can’t quite place.

“Fine. So where am I?”

“The hospital. You should be discharged in four days time.”

“Damn.” Bard softens his gaze. “Any idea what happened?”

“The Limette had a heating problem in its kitchen- I’m sure you’re familiar with such things (hey!). Most of the staff and patrons died in the explosion. Ten pedestrians were injured, including you.”

“You know, there was a man with me-“

“Alive,” Sebastian answers, looking down.

“How would you-“ and then it dawns on Bard. A brief flash of surprise, concern, and rage.

“It was you, wasn’t it!?” Bard accuses, “you pulled us out of the way!”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“And you call _me_ the idiot!? You really have nerve, Sebastian. Thought you said you’d be fine! Fire burns! In that condition, I-“

Sebastian’s gloved hand suddenly grips Bard’s unharmed one and the cook falls mute. The butler’s eyes meet his, tired and lost.

“I know,” Sebastian says a little too quietly. “I did what I wanted.”

There’s an apology in their somewhere, but Bard’s world is too busy swirling in more ways than one. What he wanted? Does that mean-

Bard thinks he knows. And he thinks Sebastian knows. And he hopes they both know now.

“Sebastian, I’ll be fine,” Bard tells him instead.

Sebastian doesn’t let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! One part left, now that the angst is finally over. Feel free to leave kudos/comments.


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